Someone to Love
by Purple-Jaxie
Summary: That was the greatest gift she has or will ever give him, not the chair, which he loves, and not the house; she allowed him to love her. That is something that he will always be thankful for: being able to love someone.


Someone to Love

He was amazed by the sight of her. She was everything that he could have ever imagined and more. It wasn't so much that she was beautiful, or that she was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but she was her and that was all he could ever ask her to be. She took his breath away. With each glance, touch, taste and kiss, he felt more and more of her. She, to put it simply, was his everything. She made life bearable. He wished that he could say the same for himself. It seemed that all he ever did was take, take and take. He never gave her anything because all that he really had to offer her was himself, but that was not enough. She deserves diamonds, rubies, emeralds, Chanel, Louis Vutton, Gucci, Versace, a big house overlooking the coast of Hawaii, 2.5 kids and a maid to clean so she won't have to lift a finger. She deserves the "American Dream" and all that her heart desires. She should get all that she could ever want or need and so much more.

But instead, she settled for him. Him and their small two bedroom house with no nook. He really wanted a nook.

Looking around their house, he saw her touches everywhere. When they had first bought the house, he said that it was no good, but she and her creative ways made it into something to be envied. She painted every room; she added tables, chairs, curtains, and little small touches that are so uniquely her. She even mixed some of his characteristics into the house as well. Their second bedroom was an office with a window that faced the outside world and there she placed a chair, his chair. She had created a pillow that had his favorite poetic verses and sayings on them. It was his "thinking chair" as she affectionally calls it. It was a place where he could write his poetry and journal articles; it was a place just for him. She was always doing little, creative things like that to make him feel special, wanted.

Peering over at his wife, he had to choke back a sob. He thanked God everyday for her. She was the lifeboat in the storm that was his life. She, with all of her patience and determination, gave him hope.

Her breathing was slow, steady, and methodic. Her breaths came out in slow spurts that gave rise and fall to her chest. Reaching out a delicate, soft hand, he grasped her left hand and entwined it with his. Looking at the mixture of chocolate and vanilla, he smiled. He loved how she was the antithesis of him in complexion. He hated to be the same as everyone else, and her contrast to him made her even more appealing. Their hands were like his favorite cookie, zebra: the perfect blend of chocolate and vanilla. Yeah, that was how they were together, perfect. More so she than him.

He slowly brought their entwined hands to his lips, and he kissed her wedding ring; nothing expensive or spectacular like her best friend's, just a simple silver band with engraved twisted thrones. When he first saw it, he knew that it was perfect because that was how he envisioned their love: a rose, which is beautiful, comes in all colors and sizes, but it's thorny and can hurt if you don't handle it a certain way. Plus, if you don't pay attention or take care of a rose, it can die. That was love to him: beautiful, yet painful.

Disentangling his hand from hers, he placed it back on the top of her chest and continued to inspect her form. He knew every inch of her body. He had spent early mornings, like this one, looking at her, studying her. He didn't want there to be one spot on her body that he didn't know about. Looking down at her, he smiled once again, relishing in the thought that she was all his. Leaning over, he gave her pert lips a ghost of a kiss. Even though he knows that he doesn't deserve her, he wants to leave his mark on her. And that mark is every touch, every look, every kiss he has ever imprinted on her. Softly stroking her cheek he whispered, "I love you," and laid his head upon her bosom. He loved it here, not because it was soft, but because he could hear her heart beat. Every time he laid here, he would place his hand over his own heart and find that they were in synch, rhythmically cohesive.

The beat of her heart always lured him to sleep on these sleepless, dreamless, restless nights. It lets him know that she's still there with him, that she did not finally come to her senses and leave him. It lets him know that his life is not a dream, and that he actually has someone that loves him, and that he can love in return. That was the greatest gift she has or will ever give him, not the chair (which he loves) and not the house; she allowed him to love her. That is something that he will always be thankful for: being able to love someone.


End file.
